Free Fag Hag (Robert Rodi Essentials) by Robert Rodi Page A

television is so sarcastic these days. Oh, I really have to go, dear. And I’m so disappointed, I never got to scold you for snubbing the Bixbys.”
    “Why on earth would I have paid any attention to the Bixbys? I don’t even know them.”
    “It’s just that Hank likes you so very much, and—”
    “Oh, Mom, get real!”
    “Carolyn and Nathan are having difficulties right now, but if Hank started seeing you I’m sure they’d be united in their joy an—”
    “Mom, you have to go!”
    “You’re right. We’ll discuss this later. Goodbye, dear.”
    “We will not. Goodbye, Mom.”
    She turned off the phone and simmered. A whole week before Calvin returned from Hawaii! She couldn’t afford to wait till then.

12
    P ETER ’ S NEW OFFICE was downtown. On Friday, the temp agency sent Natalie to the Loop for the day, to type Federal Express airbills at a public relations office that was doing a massive press-kid mailing. The work was maddeningly dull, so she arranged to meet dazzling Peter for lunch.
    They went to Marshall Field’s all-you-can-eat Italian cafeteria. Natalie, feeling that losing three pounds had done her no good, threw her diet to the winds and had a heaping plate of pasta smothered in clam sauce.
    Peter looked like hell. There were actually bags under his eyes, and his hair was limp. “Working nine to five is killing me,” he said. “My body clock is still on freelance time—up at ten, start work at three, dinner at nine, party till one, bed at two. I’m all screwed up.”
    “You look it.” She sprinkled dried peppers and grated cheese over her cappellini.
    He propped up his head with his hand. “I don’t know if I’m up to going out tonight. I actually feel nauseous. I’m not even hungry. I’m going to call Lloyd and cancel.”
    She felt a little flurry of joy. “Oh, that’s too bad.”
    “You think so? I thought you didn’t like him.”
    “I like him fine,” she lied. “He’s just not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”
    “I know what you mean. He’s one of a kind.”
    She didn’t like the admiring way he’d said that. “Well, he’ll understand if you cancel.” She dug into the pasta; delicious.
    “Oh, I know he will; he’s that way. It won’t be a problem. We’ll just go out tomorrow instead.”
    She raised an eyebrow. Maybe this cancellation wasn’t the great boon she’d thought. All it amounted to was a postponement. Maybe there was a better way…
    She reflected on the times she and Peter had gone out when he was overtired; he’d been cranky, quick-tempered, even rude. Once, after he’d been up two days straight finishing a job and then gone out with Natalie to celebrate its completion, he’d gotten so fed up with her gossip and prattle that he’d told her to shut the fuck up and she’d slapped him. That had led to their longest breach—an entire week of being angry with each other and not calling.
    If she could convince him to go out with Lloyd tonight, despite his obviously exhausted condition, maybe the same thing would happen. Lloyd would go on and on about ethics and government and whatever else in his pushy, holier-than-thou manner, and Peter would get fed up and walk out on him. It was certainly worth a try.
    She wiped her mouth on the paper napkin, and said, “I’m so glad he’s the understanding type. So many people these days just can’t deal with disappointment. I mean, think of it: how many men do you know who, if they were looking forward to a date all week, psyching themselves up for it and planning for it and just getting all excited, only to have it canceled on them at the last minute—how many could manage to be understanding about it? Damn few, by my experience. Lloyd must be a prince.”
    Peter twirled his linguini with his fork and scowled. “Y’know, he probably has been looking forward to it all week.”
    “He’ll get over it,” she said, her mouth half full with a new forkful. “It’s only a postponement till tomorrow.